


Falling For The First Time

by raiining



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Get Together, M/M, Mild Come Play, Slow Build, Thanksgiving, doctor!Clint, doctor!Phil, medical AU, mild D/s themes, minor discussion of a heart attack (very minor), minor discussion of a multi-vehicle car accident (very minor), minor discussion of cancer in the context of medical care (very minor), minor discussion of children undergoing surgery (very minor)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2746526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor Phil Coulson has been an emergency room physician in the small town of Shield Lake for a while now.  This isn’t the life he would have chosen, but he’s fairly happy with it, even if his colleagues think he’s bitter.  </p><p>Everyone agrees he could use a change, though.  When Doctor Clint Barton takes a position at the hospital, it might be the push that Phil’s been waiting for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling For The First Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msraven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msraven/gifts).



> This fic was written for the utterly fabulous msraven929 who asked for a hospital/doctor’s office AU. I hope you enjoy darling! This one’s for you :) 
> 
> Effusive thank you’s to my _beautiful_ beta’s, who helped immensely with this fic. THANK YOU, LADIES! I appreciate you always.
> 
>  
> 
> Obligatory note: this is a work of fiction. All places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. 
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: Because this is a medical AU, there are short descriptions of patients given. One of those patient is a child with appendicitis, another is a description of an older woman with possible cancer, there is mention of a multi-vehicle collision with no casualties, and a heart attack where the patient isn’t doing well. These mentions are brief, but they do occur, and I wouldn’t want to upset anyone. Please take your own mental health into consideration before you read!

 

Phil staggers into the hospital emergency room using the back door that’s labelled ‘Physicians Only.’ “Brrr,” he says, shaking off the lingering chill. His bike ride in this morning had been brutal. Pedaling uphill against a stiff wind is not on his list of favourite things to do. “Where the hell did summer go?”

Jasper doesn’t bother looking up from his charts. He’s got a half-dozen scattered around the paperwork station open at various pages and covered in his lopsided chicken-scratch. “She left us in August.”

“I swear we used to have four seasons here when I was growing up,” Phil grouses as he peels himself out of the heavy leather jacket he'd thought would be enough for a mid-October day. He’ll have to get out his fleece soon. “Spring, summer, fall… winter didn’t show up until halfway through December. Am I wrong?”

Jasper chuckles, finally looking up. He’s wearing hospital greens with a white t-shirt underneath, his stethoscope hanging loosely around his neck. “Was that your childhood or a Lifetime special?”

Phil rolls his eyes. “I just think we should get a proper fall before the snow starts hitting the ground. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.” He looks around the quiet ER. Except for an old man sleeping in the corner and Janice, the nurse on duty, the emergency room looks empty. “How was your night?”

“Not too bad,” Jasper says with a shrug. “One NSTEMI, one TIA. I had a sixteen year old with new onset diabetes, so that was fun, but overall it was good.”

Phil nods. It’d surprised him, back when he’d first come home, how many sick people there could be in a town of only fourteen thousand. One minor heart attack and a transient stroke was pretty good for a night. The diabetic sounded interesting. “Did you admit her?”

“Yup. Steve took her overnight and Thor will see her today after his morning clinic.” Jasper pulls one chart out from the pile. “The NSTEMI is the only one who stayed. I’ve got him in bed nine. No known coronary artery disease, but he admits that his family doctor’s been after him to lower his cholesterol. I’m repeating his blood work once the lab gets here at eight. He’s fine, his ECG is good. I gave him aspirin and morphine and some supplemental O2. I’m not sure if he’ll need admission, transfer to a larger center, or if he can be safely discharged with close follow-up.”

“I’ll see what his trops show,” Phil agrees. He rubs his hands together to warm them. “I’m going to head upstairs for some coffee before I get started. Do you want a cup?”

Jasper shakes his head. “No, I’m good. Maria was on call last night for her group, so she’ll still be in bed when I get home. I intend to join her.”

Phil can’t help but smile. “Ah, married life.” 

Jasper grins. “It’s pretty awesome. You should try it sometime.”

Phil chuckles. “Right. That’s step three or four, at least. There’s something that comes before that, I’m sure.”

“Dating,” Jasper agrees, pointing with his pen. “It’s a thing that people do.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “If you say so. It’s been so long, I’m honestly not sure.” He hooks a thumb in the direction of the hallway. “I’m going to get some coffee. Hold down the fort, I’ll be back in ten.”

Jasper nods. “Enjoy.” He grins. “If anyone comes in, I’m leaving them for you.”

“Such a gentleman,” Phil says fondly. He grabs his pager from his bag and clips it to his stethoscope.

“And a scholar,” Jasper calls to Phil’s back. 

Phil waves blindly over his shoulder as he opens the double-doors that connect the emergency room to the main hospital. Shield Lake Health Center is always quiet this time of day. By eight o’clock it’ll be bustling, and come nine o’clock it’ll be nuts, but right now, at not quite seven o’clock in the morning, everything is calm. Phil nods to a nurse seeing inpatients on the second floor as he rounds a corner and takes the stairs.

The physicians' lounge is little more than an alcove tucked away on the third floor. There’s enough room for two couches, three chairs, a battered table, and an ancient Keurig machine. Together, the set-up is barely bigger than a supply closet, but it’s still almost more space than they need. There aren’t exactly a lot of physicians working in a town this small.

“Good morning,” Natasha greets him when he walks in. If she’s here this early, she must be on call. Shield Lake has only two general surgeons and they tend to enjoy their time away from the hospital when they don’t need to be here. “How was your morning run?”

“Cold,” he admits, grabbing an empty mug. “Is the coffee machine on?”

Natasha nods. “I just made myself a cup. Careful, though. Wade was on last night and there was some delay during prep, so the sugarcubes might be covered in salt again.”

Phil winces. He respects Wilson for his surgical skills - honestly, the things that man can do with a knife - but Wade has a tendency to cause trouble when he’s bored. “I think I’ll stick to the packets, then.”

Natasha smiles, raising her steaming cup to her lips. “That’s probably a good idea.”

She waits companionably while Phil fixes himself a mug and then joins him on the least ratty couch, which just happens to be facing the door. He appreciates her tact. Even though it’s been years since Phil came home from overseas, it still feels good to have the wall at his back. “So, what happened last night?”

“There was an eight year old with appendicitis. They took her to the OR, but they had to resterilize the clamp, so Wade had about an hour before he could call anesthesia.”

Phil takes a sip of his coffee. “Did everything go okay?”

“Yes, the patient is doing well. I just checked on her. Wade went home about an hour ago. What about you? Just getting on shift?”

Phil nods. “I’m relieving Jasper. I should hurry up, actually. He wants to go home and snuggle with his wife.”

Natasha grins. “Honeymooners. How dare they.”

“Right?” Phil rolls his eyes. “Not that I begrudge them or anything, I mean it took them long enough, but come on.”

Natasha laughs. “Oh,” she says, “before I forget, I wanted to tell you - Nick thinks he may have hooked someone.”

Phil perks up. “Really?” They’ve been trying to recruit another physician to Shield Lake for over a year now. “Who is it?”

She shrugs. “New blood. I don’t know him. He’s just finished his residency in New York.”

Phil frowns. “And he wants to come here?” 

He regrets the slip almost immediately. There’s nothing wrong with Shield Lake, after all. Phil loves this town. It’s just that, well, if he’d had a choice, he never would have moved back.

Natasha narrows her eyes. “From what Nick says? Yes. He’s interested at least. I think Nick will be bringing him around the hospital to introduce him to everyone today. I know you might not agree with his choices, Phil, but try to be polite, okay?”

“Yes,” Phil hurries to say. “Of course I will.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, and they sit in uncomfortable silence until she leaves. When she’s gone, Phil sighs. He shouldn’t have said that. He _knows_ he shouldn’t have said that. Saying things like that out loud is why people are convinced he’s only one good offer away from leaving this place.

He’s not, he loves Shield Lake. He’s made a home here now. He might sometimes feel at loose ends, but he’s fine - he’s content, at least. He’s fairly sure he’s happy. 

Phil sighs and takes another sip of his coffee.

When he’s finished the mug, he stands, rinses it, and then replaces it in the cupboard. The Keurig machine blinks at him, so he refills the water tank, and then looks over at the sugar cubes stacked beside coffee machine.

He doesn’t want to know, but it feels like it’s his moral duty to find out. Screwing up his courage, Phil picks up a cube and raises it to his lips. Eugh. Salt. He shakes his head, dumps the cubes in the garbage, refills the dish, and then heads back downstairs.

It’s going to be a long day.

 

*

 

He isn’t wrong. By the time Phil gets to the ER, there are already four patients waiting for him - a shingles outbreak, a laceration, and two COPDers, from what he can tell. Jasper leaves with a grin on his face and Phil shoots him the finger before he goes. When Jasper’s gone, Phil turns back to the desk, slips a pen into his pocket, and grabs the first chart from the pile.

“Good morning. My name is Doctor Coulson. What brings you into the emergency room today?” Phil asks, as if bed five’s wheezing isn’t audible from the desk.

Bed five ends up being admitted, but bed six goes home with a five day prescription for steroids and antibiotics. Phil’s giving orders to get the surgical tray ready for the laceration and he’s just seeing the shingles outbreak when another spate of patients arrive. The morning hops along from there. Rumlow, his nurse today, does a decent job of triaging, but the work is steady. It’s busy enough that when Phil hears Fury’s voice, he doesn’t immediately look up.

“And this is our emergency room,” Nick says. “It’s a ten-bed facility, with lab and x-ray support during the day, and available at night on an on-call basis. We have an eye room, three procedure rooms, and our ambulance bay.”

“No CT, right? You said you refer all your high priority cases to a larger center?”

The voice is new, young, and filled with enough honest curiosity to make Phil look up from his ECG. The emergency room is busy, but it isn’t difficult to pick out Nick. His old friend is playing the ‘excitement card’ to the hilt - he’s dressed in combat boots, a black trenchcoat, and his most intimidating eyepatch. Even with three years in Shield Lake under his belt, Nick still looks like he’s Army born and bred. 

Phil, on the other hand, is wearing stained scrubs, old sneakers, and it’s possible that he forgot to shave this morning. He raises a hand to his chin and scrubs it. Huh. He’s getting sloppy in his old age.

“That’s right,” Nick agrees. It’s always amusing to Phil to see him playing the part of a hospital administrator when he used to command troops on the battlefield with natural aplomb. “It makes it tricky sometimes, but we have air transport services on standby and we can usually get the patient lifted out within an hour or two. Sooner, if it’s an emergency and can’t wait.” He looks up and catches Phil’s eye. “Ah, Phil, just the man I wanted to see. I’d like you to meet Clint Barton. He’s a new graduate, thinking of doing some Hospitalist work with us. Clint, this is Phil Coulson, one of the finest emergency room physicians in the state.”

Phil comes around the desk, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the praise. He’d promised Natasha he’d play nice. “Hello.”

“Doctor Coulson,” Doctor Barton says, meeting Phil’s eyes and stepping forward. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Phil looks into those eyes and promptly drops his ECG. “Hi,” he says while his paper flutters to the floor. Wow. Clint Barton is _gorgeous_. Phil’s not sure if it’s the startlingly blue-green eyes, the wide shoulders, or the hint of a smirk on his smiling lips. It’s probably the entire package. Yeah, Phil thinks as Barton’s hand meets his and a frisson of electricity runs up Phil’s spine, it’s definitely the combination of all three. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Barton says. He squeezes Phil’s hand. “Hi.”

“Well,” Nick drawls. “I can see you boys are going to get along.”

Phil blushes. The handshake has _probably_ gone on a shade too long. He clears his throat and lets Barton’s hand go, hoping the damage can be mitigated. “Doctor Barton, yes. Hello.”

“Call me Clint, please,” Barton says with a genuine smile. “I’m already going to be the new guy, I don’t need to do anything else to stand out.”

Phil hides his answering smile by bending down to pick up the ECG. “Worried about getting crap consults?”

Barton - _Clint_ \- grins. “Definitely.”

“Well, if you did your residency in New York, that makes sense. I wouldn’t worry, we’re all pretty fair here.” Phil thinks over their small list of colleagues. “Mostly.” Blake can be an asshole sometimes.

Clint shoots a grin over his shoulder at Nick. “I feel so reassured.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Barton did his residency at Cornell, Phil. I think he can handle it.”

“Ah,” Phil says. Cornell, well. That feels like a lifetime ago.

It nearly was.

Clint looks back at him. “Do you know it?”

“I used to,” Phil temporizes. He clears his throat. “I remember the staff there can be pretty sadistic to residents.”

“It was a challenge,” Clint agrees. He throws Nick a brilliant smile. “Which is why I was so intrigued to hear about the recruitment package you guys were offering. I’d like to get out of the city for a while.”

Phil has something to say to that, but he clamps his lips shut, even _before_ Nick shoots him a glower. Phil glowers back. Jesus, what does everybody think he is? A bitter old man?

“Though I guess you still have your share of excitement here, don’t you?” Clint says. Phil’s not sure if he’s oblivious to the sudden tension, or trying to draw attention away from it. “I mean, diagnosing pulmonary embolisms on ECG? That’s old school.”

Phil looks away from his staring contest with Nick. “Huh?”

Clint nods to the paper in Phil’s hand. “Your patient?”

Phil lifts the ECG back up, staring at it. “What? She’s fifty year old with chest pain - oh, shit, is that an S1Q3T3?” He gapes at Clint. “How did you see that?”

Clint blinks. “Uh. I have good eyes?”

“ _I’ll_ say,” Phil agrees. He shakes his head. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I think I have a patient to see.”

Nick waves him off. “Any time, Phil. I’m going to show Barton around the back.”

Phil’s hardly listening. He grabs his patient’s chart and reanalyzes her symptoms in light of a possible P.E. She’s slightly tachy at one-oh-five, but her saturations are good. “Uh huh.”

From behind him, he can hear Nick chuckle. “Anyway, that’s Phil. Like I said, he’s an amazing physician, and a damn good friend, once you get to know him. He saved my life more times than I can count. He’s a genuine war hero.”

Away from scrutiny, Phil scoffs. Sure he is. He shakes himself, and then leaves to look after his patient. She’s much more important than Nick right now.

 

*

 

Phil’s off at three, but he stays until four, helping Melinda come on shift. His lady with the pulmonary embolism is being airlifted at four thirty, and Phil wants to have her chart done. She’s got oxygen on board and he’s given her a full dose of lovenox, but she’ll need radiologic confirmation of the blood clot in her lungs to approve the blood thinners she’ll need on a daily basis for the next three to six months. He’s also started the hunt for the cause of her P.E., since she’d flagged none of the usual markers. Phil suspects she may have an occult malignancy, so he adds a CT abdo/pelvis to her order with the notation, “query cancer.”

It’s a depressing way to end his shift, especially since Phil knows the patient is a teacher at the local elementary school and had helped Jimmy’s son figure out subtraction last year. That’s the problem with working in a small town - everyone knows everyone’s cousin twice removed. It makes compartmentalization more difficult than usual.

“Go,” Melinda finally says, after the airlift transport team has arrived and collected his patient and her paperwork. “Leave. Have a cup of coffee. Take a walk. Buy groceries. Do _something_ , but don’t do it here.”

Phil gives her a dry chuckle. “I’m sorry, am I getting in your way?”

“Yes,” Melinda tells him, sounding serious as she shoots him one of her patented glares. 

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving,” Phil assures her. He takes off his stethoscope and shoves his pager in his pocket. “See?”

“Uh huh,” Melinda says, crossing her arms. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“No, I’m not. I’m a hallucination, I’m gone, I left half an hour ago.” Phil backs up until he’s at the double doors that lead to the main entrance to the hospital. “Bye.”

Melinda rolls her eyes and turns away. Phil smiles. He steps back, but the door opens before he can make contact with it. Phil loses his balance, but instead of falling, he finds himself caught by a broad chest and strong, steady arms.

“Whoa,” Clint Barton says. He steadies Phil, meeting his eyes. When he smiles, it lights up his entire face. “Hello, again.”

“Hi,” Phil breathes. He shakes himself, catching his feet and standing up. “I mean, hello. Hi.”

Clint laughs. “I think you’ve said ‘hello’ to me at least seven times today.”

“Yes, well,” Phil says, blushing, “you’re new. That takes a lot of hello...ing.” Jesus, what’s _wrong_ with him? He’s faced armed combatants and always kept his head. “How did the tour go?”

Clint shrugs. “Pretty good. Nick - Director Fury - showed me around the place. It’s a nice set-up you’ve got here.”

Phil agrees, but he can’t help but compare it to a hospital like Cornell. “Did he show you where the physicians' lounge is?”

“I think so…” Clint screws up his face in concentration. “Second floor, right?”

“Third,” Phil corrects, pointing up. “I was just going to go there for some coffee. Do you want to join me?”

Clint shrugs. “Sure.” He follows Phil to the stairs. “Is that where most of the physicians hang out?”

Phil nods. “Pretty much. It’s kind of the only place we have that’s ours. I think it used to be a supply closet, but someone put a coffee machine in there and someone else brought a chair. It kind of spiraled from there. I think the table is from my mother’s old medical office.”

Clint looks at him in surprise. “Your mother was a doctor in town?”

“Yes,” Phil says, feeling the familiar lump catch in his throat. He ignores it, leading Clint down the third floor hallway. “Here we are. I should warn you, though, anyone Nick hasn’t introduced you to because he’s worried about scaring you off is likely to be in this room.”

Clint grins, showing his teeth. “I don’t scare easy.”

Phil can’t help but smile back. “If you say so.”

They push open the nondescript door to find that, sure enough, the lounge is full. Natasha’s sitting by Wade Wilson, whose usual manic energy has settled enough that he’s only leisurely squeezing a stress ball instead of bouncing around the room. He must have come back to the hospital to check on his patient. Bruce is skimming an article on hematology, Rhodey is shaking his head at something Wade has just said, and Tony is making what Phil would lay odds on is his sixth coffee of the day.

“Hello, everyone,” Phil says, stepping into the room. “I’ve brought a visitor today.”

“Coulson!” Tony says, grinning. “How is my favourite - oh, wait. Hello. Who are you?” He slides away from the coffee machine to give Clint a full, fifty megawatt, patented Tony Stark smile. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, sticking out his hand. “Tony Stark.”

Clint blinks. “As in Maria Stark? From the Maria Stark Foundation?”

Tony’s flashbulb personality wavers. “Yes.” He shakes himself. “That’s odd, most people recognize my name from dad’s genius and stunning revelations instead of my mom’s more modest - according to him - contributions. How do you know the name?”

Clint blushes. “She - it - helped. A lot. Thank you.”

Tony’s smile deepens, becoming more real. “You’re welcome. I’m glad to hear that.” He clears his throat and claps his hands. “So!”

“Down, Tony,” Rhodey says, stepping behind him and putting a calming hand on his back. “You’ve done good, now calm down.” He snags the mug out of Tony’s hand. “And give me that.”

Tony pouts, but Phil can see that some of the tension has gone out of his shoulders. He sometimes suspects that Tony hates the persona of _Tony Stark_ even more than the rest of them. “You’re no fun, snuggle-bun.”

Clint coughs to hide a chuckle and Rhodey rolls his eyes. “Uh huh. Pepper gave me a coffee cut-off today, remember? You’re allowed three, you’ve already had two - do you actually want to drink this one now?” Tony opens his mouth and Rhodey continues, “Remember as you answer that you’re on call tonight.”

“For orthopedics,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “It’s _October_ \- how many old people do you think are going to fall tonight and break their hips?”

Wade, still sitting across the room, laughs. “Now that you’ve jinxed it? Twenty. Minimum. Maybe more.”

“I could fix twenty!” Tony argues, turning on Wilson. “I could fix twenty in a _second_.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Pepper interrupts, walking into the doctors’ lounge. “No betting on surgical procedures, that’s a rule.” She frowns at Tony. “That’s a hard rule.”

Rhodey steps forward to ease Pepper into a chair. He kneels at her feet and slips off her OR booties. “I’m glad you’re done,” he says, giving her a warm look. “He’s getting restless. How did everything go?”

Pepper smiles, looking tired, but proud. “Mom did great, and baby is good. Thor’s on tonight for pediatrics, so I’m good to leave whenever you boys are.”

Tony bounces on his toes. “I’m good, I’m hungry, let’s motor.” He makes for the door, stops, turns, and blinks at Clint. 

“Right,” Tony says, snapping his fingers. “New guy, Pepper; Pepper, new guy.” He rocks backwards on his heels, sticking his hands in the pockets of his scrubs. “What was your name again?”

Clint’s busy swallowing a laugh, so Phil steps forward. “Everyone, this is Clint Barton, a possible recruit from New York. He did his residency at Cornell.”

Bruce looks up from his paper. “Ah, Cornell. A very good school. Phil did his residency there.” 

Clint looks at Phil, who shrugs. “It was a long time ago. I’m sure things have changed.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Clint allows. “It was an experience, anyway.” 

Bruce nods knowingly. “You’re looking to get out of the city?”

“I am,” Clint admits. 

“So, what drags you out to the boonies?” Wade asks in his typical blunt fashion. “Was it drugs?”

Clint blinks. “What?”

“For me, it was criminal charges,” Wade says, almost proudly. “And drugs,” he adds, “but criminal charges most of all.”

“Err,” Clint says.

“Tony came to escape,” Wade say, oblivious, snapping his fingers, “and Pepper and Rhodey came for Tony, obviously. Bruce has been just passing through for years now, and Phil has his whole ‘tragic backstory.’” Phil winces when Wade actually makes air quotes. “Natasha, I don’t know because I’ve never asked, because I like my balls where they are, and - ”

Natasha - finally - slaps Wade upside the head. “Shut up,” she tells him, much more fondly than Phil would have.

Wade stares at her, hurt. “What? Why? Oh - ” His eyes go wide. “I was oversharing again, wasn’t I?”

“You were,” she tells him. 

“Right, sorry,” he says. He turns back to Clint. “Forget I said that.”

“... sure,” Clint says, his eyes widening. “I can do that.”

Bruce chuckles. “He does have a point,” he says. “Most people have a reason for moving to a smaller town. Phil and Melinda grew up in Shield Lake, but the majority of us have moved here from away.” 

Tony twitches. “I’ll have you - ”

Pepper soothes him with a hand on his arm. “Why don’t we go home and make some dinner? I know I’ve had a long day, I’m sure you boys have, too.” She looks at Clint and smiles. “I hope you enjoy Shield Lake, Clint. We’d be glad to have you.”

“Thank you,” Clint tells her, sounding honest, and maybe a little relieved. 

Phil shakes his head once Pepper has shuffled Tony and Rhodey into the hall and away. “Wade, one of these days - ”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Wade says, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I was up all night with this kid and - no,” he says, cringing. “That’s not an excuse, I know. I’m sorry, I know.”

“Did you take your meds today?” Natasha asks him kindly. 

Wade blinks at her. “No? Maybe. Yes. I’m not sure.”

She smiles. “Come on, let’s go check your dosette.” She stands and Wade follows her. “Phil,” she says, nodding. “Clint, what Pepper said.”

They nod back, and Wade follows her out the door. “I have ADHD,” he says in what might have been meant to be a whisper, only it comes out at normal volume. “Sometimes I forget that - ”

“Wade!”

“Coming, coming!” He dashes out of the room and into the hall. “I’m sorry, Natasha.”

“That’s okay,” she says, her voice fading. “Just remember that - ”

The door closes behind them. Clint exhales. “Wow.”

“I told you,” Phil says, dropping onto a couch. “Ahh. Bruce,” he says, looking over. “How was your day?”

Bruce shrugs. “Pretty good. I’m on ‘til five.”

Phil hums. “Nothing crazy?”

“No. Well, Mr. Peterpoint needed blood again, but that’s hardly new.” Bruce looks up at Clint. “He’s got a suspected small bowel bleed somewhere we can’t pin down.”

“That sucks,” Clint says, taking a seat across from them. “How often does he get transfused?”

“About every six to eight weeks,” Bruce says.

Clint nods. “So you get quite a lot of interesting medicine in a place like this, huh?”

Phil looks away. Clint must catch the motion. “What?”

Bruce smiles. “Don’t mind him. Phil went from Shield Lake, to New York, to combat medicine overseas, and then came back to Shield Lake. He’s a little bored with what we have here.”

“That’s not true,” Phil protests. He looks at Clint. “Shield Lake has lots of good, interesting medicine, it’s just that you can’t expect the flow to be consistent. People get sick everywhere, but in a town of just fourteen thousand, even with a catchment area three times that, you only see what you’re going to see.”

Clint smiles. “No pheochromocytomas then?”

“Actually, I had one once,” Bruce pops in. “About three years ago now.”

“Huh,” Clint says, looking surprised. “How did it go?” 

Bruce shrugs. “Pretty good. Tony travelled back to New York with the patient to help with surgery.”

Clint nods. “So that really is Tony Stark?”

 

“Yup,” Phil answers. “He has dual qualifications in both internal medicine and orthopedics, which, if you stay still long enough, he’ll tell you about at length. Rhodey also does orthopedic surgery and Pepper is our OB/GYN. Wade and Natasha are our general surgeons.” 

He’s curious about Clint and his history with the Maria Stark Foundation, but he won’t ask. Maybe he’ll google the Foundation when he gets home, which - Phil looks at his watch and groans - he should be getting to. “It’s late,” Phil says, standing up from his chair. “I’d better leave before Melinda realizes I’m still in the building.”

Clint grins at him. “She’d give you shit for that?”

“So much,” Phil tells him. “Is Fury putting you up somewhere? Or are you driving back to New York?”

“He’s putting me up,” Clint tells him, following Phil to his feet. “At the Holiday Inn?”

“Ah, quality accommodations,” Phil says with a grin. He looks back at Bruce, still sitting with his hematology paper. “Good night, Bruce.”

Bruce waves, and Phil leads Clint out to the hallway and then back downstairs to the main floor. “Nothing but the best for our potential recruits.”

Clint laughs. “Okay, _now_ you sound like you were in the Army.”

Phil shrugs, blushing slightly. “Yes, well.” They’re at the lobby. “Have a good evening, Clint.”

“Wait! Um,” he follows Phil to the front door. “I don’t really know my way around town. Do you, ah, want to help me out? Maybe have dinner with me?” 

Phil looks over, surprised. He knows he’s been ridiculously obvious in his attraction, but he never would have thought a young, handsome guy like Clint would be interested in a man like him. 

Clint’s ducking his head slightly, shoulders hunched like he’s warding off a blow, but his eyes look hopeful when they dart up to meet Phil’s.

Phil swallows. He should say no. He should say ‘thanks but no thanks.’ Either Clint will leave and Phil will never see him again, or else he’ll move to Shield Lake and be constantly underfoot. Phil doesn’t go for one night stands and every relationship he’s ever attempted has ended in disaster. When Clint gets tired of him, he’ll just be _there,_ all the time, which is why Phil has never been interested in dating his colleagues.

Clint’s hopeful look shutters and he looks away. Phil realizes that he’s taken too long to answer. “That’s okay,” Clint says, stepping back, “I’ll - ”

Phil finds himself stepping forward before he can stop himself, reaching out and laying a hand on Clint’s arm. “Sure,” Phil finds himself saying. “I’d like that.”

Clint blinks. His eyes dart over Phil’s face, as if checking to see that he’s serious. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees. He clears his throat. “I mean, there isn’t a lot out there, Shield Lake isn’t very big, but there is one place that’s good to eat at, if you like.”

“Awesome,” Clint says with a grin. “Do you want to go now?”

“I should change first,” Phil admits. He raises a hand to his chin and grimaces at the stubble there. “And shave. Darcy tends to yell at me if I stumble in looking like I just came off shift.”

Clint’s face does something complicated. “Darcy?”

Phil nods. “The owner of _Who’s What Now_ , the only passable diner in town. Well - diner, coffee shop, circulating library, speakeasy… thing.”

Clint laughs. “Sounds interesting.”

“It’s an experience,” Phil agrees. “It’s not far from your hotel, actually. Do you want me to - ” he blushes, “I mean, I could meet you there. Not pick you up, because we could probably walk if it’s not too cold, but, ah - ”

Clint grins. “That sounds perfect. Can you give me maybe half an hour?”

“Is forty-five minutes okay?”

“Excellent,” Clint purrs. “I’ll see you then.”

Phil nods and walks away. He keeps his head up and his shoulders straight, even though his heart is pounding and his palms are sweaty. Refusing to look behind him to check if Clint’s watching, Phil turns left outside the hospital and makes his way to the bike rack nestled around the side of the building. His hands move on autopilot, disengaging the lock and untangling his bike, and then thrusting the lock into one pocket along with his pager and stethoscope.

Snapping back the kickstand and clicking on his helmet, Phil climbs on his bike and slowly makes his way home. The rush of cold air on his face snaps him out of his shock, and _holy shit_ , he just agreed to a date with a hot co-worker! Or a potential co-worker. Or a… colleague… thing. Colleague. No matter what, Clint’s a colleague.

Phil’s never dated a colleague before, and he’s never dated anyone as hot as Clint. Oh god, this is going to end in tears.

No, Phil tells himself firmly as he pedals home. It’s not. For one, this isn’t even a date - they’re going to Darcy’s, so there’ll be no semblance of privacy, anyway. Everyone goes to Darcy’s after work. Two, nothing’s going to happen tonight. Just because he and Clint seem to have immediately hit it off, well, the whole ‘potential’ employment thing is a problem. Phil does _not_ want to start something that’s over before it even begins. 

So, no sex. No matter how much fun he has or how pleasant tonight is, he’s not going to have sex with Clint. Which is a good thing, Phil thinks sardonically to himself as he pulls into his driveway, because it’s been so long he might need to actually google ‘gay sex’ just to remind himself which pieces fit where.

Only it turns out that isn’t a problem, because when Phil arrives at the Holiday Inn, he finds Clint standing in the parking lot, wearing a woolen jacket that hugs his shoulders and no gloves, hands bare as he rubs his palms together. Phil has a bright, full colour, surround-sound mental image of those fingers and just where, exactly, they could be inserted into Phil’s body and oh, god. No sex. No _sex_.

“Hi,” Clint says, smiling at him.

“Hi,” Phil echoes, feeling breathless. Jesus, he needs to get a hold of himself. “I mean, um, hello. Darcy’s is this way, if you still want to go. Or there’s a roadhouse along the edge of town if you prefer.”

“Darcy’s sounds great,” Clint says sincerely, smiling in that full-bodied way he has. “I’m pretty tired of roadhouse food. Besides, the whole ‘circulating library, coffee shop’ thing sounded cool.”

“It’s pretty interesting,” Phil admits, as they cross the street and start walking the block that will take them to Darcy’s. “The owner grew up here, and my mom used to write about her antics when describing the town to me while I was away. She moved away to New York when she got older, but when she returned and opened this place, no one was surprised. The food is good, and she makes the best coffee in town.”

Clint chuckles. “Caffeine is definitely the currency of choice in most of the hospitals I’ve worked in.”

“If you want to ask a favour from someone, showing up with a mug of Darcy’s coffee is definitely the best way to start,” Phil agrees. He shoves his hands in his pockets to ward off the chill. “Here we are.”

When she opened the diner, the first thing Darcy had done was replace the repaired glass door the building had come with with a heavy, metal-inlaid-wood contraption that she claimed had more style. Phil levers it open and ushers Clint inside. The interior is dark, but it doesn’t seem to take long for Clint’s eyes to adjust. Phil watches Clint scan the interior, blink, and then scan it again. Phil hides a smile. Darcy’s is - Darcy’s. It’s eclectic, a combination of speakeasy, with it’s long, fine-grain wood bar, and diner, with booth-like tables set around the room. There’s also a cleared space in the middle, for both dancing and poetry recitals, and beanbag chairs that get thrown around on Saturday afternoons. Dark wood shelves line the back wall where the circulating library has been set up and overall the atmosphere is one of strange, but comfortable, familiarity.

Of course, that’s how Phil views it, because he grew up in this town and its weird brand of normal. He’s not entirely sure if Clint gets the decor. “Do you like it? We can go somewhere else if you want.”

“I love it,” Clint breathes, still looking around. “This is great.“ He turns so Phil can see the wide grin splitting his face. “This is incredible, actually. Are those real pictures on the walls, the ones in black and white?”

Phil looks to the left-hand wall where a mural has been created with fading pictures edged in purple, silver, and gold. He blushes, even though Clint can’t possibly know why. “Yes, they are. There is, well, there _used_ to be a circus that came through town, and it - ”

Suddenly there’s a laugh, and a strong hand claps Phil on the back. “Come on, Coulson, we all know why you miss the circus,” Jasper says, his eyes dancing. “It never was the same once Carson’s went away, was it?”

Phil’s face feels like it’s on fire. “Shut up, Jasper. You didn’t even live here, every story you’ve heard is second hand from Melinda.”

“That’s not to say he’s wrong,” Sharon says, appearing suddenly from behind Jasper’s back. She’s a younger physician, one of the family docs recruited two years ago. She does office work, hospitalist work, and some pediatrics with Thor. She looks around. “Where’s Maria?”

“She’s coming,” Jasper assures her, “she just had to dash to the bathroom first. Hey, honey,” he says, as Maria chooses that moment to come back. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, just a little unsettled stomach,” she explains. “I think the french toast you made at lunch was undercooked.”

Jasper looks wounded. “I would _never_ \- ”

“Uh huh,” Maria says, cutting him off. “Sharon. Phil. Oh, hello,” she says, looking at Clint with interest. “Who are you?”

Jasper grins. “Phil’s _date_.”

“Ah,” Maria says, with interest.

“Guys,” Phil warns. “Behave.” He shakes his head, looking back at Clint. “I’m sorry, they’re always like this.”

Clint’s eyes dance. “That’s okay,” he says, leaning over to offer his hand. “Hi, I’m Clint Barton, hospitalist. I’m thinking of moving to Shield Lake.”

“Oh, a _recruit,_ ” Maria says, leaning forward. “Perfect. Move here and see all my hospital patients for me. I hate going to the hospital, my husband works there.”

Jasper rolls his eyes. “She really does detest it,” he agrees.

“Maria and Sharon are two of the family practitioners here in town,” Phil explains. “We’ve got enough family doctors to cover the population here, but most find doing hospital calls draining. Especially since a lot of our docs are over the age of sixty.”

Clint eyes Maria, frowning.

She huffs. “Not me, obviously, and not Sharon, but Daisy’s almost seventy and she doesn’t want to manage critical patients in the middle of the night anymore, and neither do I. Blake’s just crotchety. We have time to recruit another family doctor before they retire but we need another hospitalist now.”

Clint nods. “I met two other docs today, uh - Steve? And Peggy?”

“Our double-hitters,” Melinda agrees. “Peggy recruited Steve here shortly after medical school. Between the two of them, they manage most of the work, along with part-timers like Sharon here, but they still need help. Being on call one night in two is draining, so the rest of us take shifts during the week.” She shudders. “I hate it.”

“If you get a third full time hospitalist, then, it’ll be one in three?” Clint asks. 

Phil nods. “Yes. It’s not an easy job and, like I said, the medicine isn’t quite what you’d see in the city, but - ”

“Jesus, Phil,” Jasper says, rolling his eyes, “don’t try to talk him out of it.”

“I wasn’t!” Phil protests. “I just want to make sure that he knows what he’s getting into.”

Maria and Sharon share a look of disgust.

“Honestly,” Phil tries. “I was going to add that sometimes you see really interesting cases here, and the nice thing is that because we’re a smaller center we don’t have to hand them off to a team of specialists.” He glares. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” Jasper admits, “you’re not. Just - ” He sighs. “We all want you to be happy, Phil.”

“I am happy,” Phil protests, but it’s weaker than he’d like. He is. He... thinks he is. Usually.

“Okay, then,” Maria says. “Let’s get a table, shall we?” She looks over the restaurant for Darcy. “I want a big one in the back.”

 

*

 

Phil thinks about kicking his friends out so he can restart his date with Clint, but the mood already feels like it’s been ruined, and Clint seems like he’s having fun. He smiles at everyone, talks charmingly, and if he glances at Phil more times than strictly friendship could claim, well, Phil’s still counting this date as better than the vast majority of his previous attempts.

He gets a call from Melinda around nine-thirty, though, because there’s a been a multivehicle crash on the highway outside of town and casualties are coming their way. Phil’s not actually on call tonight, but he is the head of the emergency program in Shield Lake, and that means that sometimes he has to go in.

“I’m sorry,” he says, coming back to the table after taking the phone call from Melinda outside. “I’ve got to go. There’s been a three car MVA on Interstate 90.”

Everyone winces. Jasper puts down his fork. “Do you need help?”

Phil shakes his head. “It sounds like it’s mostly minor injuries. I think Melinda and I can handle it, but I’ll let you and Jimmy Woo know if something more serious comes in.” He looks at Clint, hoping the other doctor will understand. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Clint says, smiling, even though Phil can see that he’s disappointed. “Maybe I’ll see you around if I move to Shield Lake after all.”

“Most definitely,” Phil assures him, ignoring the fact that he’s probably coming off as too eager. Let Maria snicker - Phil doesn’t want Clint to get the wrong idea. “You won’t be able to avoid me, honestly. I mean,” he stops, realizing how that sounded. “I mean - ”

Clint laughs. “I know what you mean, Phil.”

“Great,” Phil says, his face once again beet red. Jesus, he can’t seem to stop putting his foot in his mouth around this guy. “Okay, I’ll - bye.” 

He waves to the table and walks away, shaking his head at how horribly _stupid_ he can sound sometimes. Honestly, a man with an M.D., a service record, and a satisfyingly flourishing practice should be able to stop and _think_ before speaking to a cute guy, for once in his life.

No, as it turns out. Not so much.

The accident on the interstate turns out to be much worse than he’d thought. It’s bad, the kind of bad that has Phil wandering home at eight a.m. with the scent of blood still hanging around his neck like a noose, but at least the team had gotten everyone stabilized. Phil sleeps like the dead for most of the day and wakes with the bleary realization that he’d gone on a date with Clint and it had not ended well.

Or, at least, it’d ended weirdly. Phil doesn’t like weird dates - he has plenty of experience with them, and they never go anywhere good.

He’s pretty nervous going back to the hospital after that. Surely Jasper or Sharon or Maria or _someone_ will have words to say about Clint and their impressions of how the interrupted date went. Phil’s not sure he can take a mocking ‘way to show a boy a good time, Phil’ right now, so he mostly avoids his friends and concentrates on work. Thankfully, when he _does_ finally gather enough courage to slink back into the doctors' lounge, everyone there seems mostly to have forgotten about it. At least, that’s what Phil decides to hope.

“And you’ll all be pleased to know that Clint Barton has gotten back to me and has agreed to join our team. I know he made quite an _impression_ on you all for the few days he was here,” Nick says at the tail end of the weekly briefing, giving lie to all of Phil’s illusions.

Phil feels his face flare hot before the rest of the sentence penetrates. “Wait - _days?_ ”

Jasper shrugs. “He did drive up from New York, after all. We took him around a little, showed him all the sights. You were pretty tired after the multivehicle MVA, so we didn’t want to bother you and, besides, we kind of felt we owed it to him after interrupting your date.” 

Phil opens his mouth, closes it, and morosely takes the mug of coffee Wilson hands him. He must look as dejected as he feels, because it isn’t even salted. “Thanks.”

“If it’s any consolation, he did ask a lot about you,” Jasper tries.

“We did our best to sell you up,” Wade assures him.

“Great,” Phil mumbles into his coffee.

At the front of the room, Nick clears his throat. “If there’s nothing else?” he asks. Everyone shakes their heads. “All right, then, people. Get to work.”

People stand and start clumping into groups. Steve and Peggy shuffle off to one side, probably talking over how they’re going to incorporate Clint into their call schedule, and Melinda and Jasper move to another. Phil sees Natasha incline her head, silently asking if he wants to join her and Wade, but Phil shakes his head and hurries after Nick instead.

He follows Nick back to his office, closing the door behind him, and sinks down into the plush visitor’s chair. “I have to do something as soon as he gets into town,” he says, clutching at his coffee, “to let him know that I’m still interested. I could take him out, maybe? But where? We’ve already tried Darcy’s and that was a disaster.” He stares at his best friend. “What else is there to do in this town?”

Nick huffs. He sits down at his desk and pierces Phil with his trademark one-eyed stare. “That’s the secondary question. The first question is - are you sure you want to start something with this guy?”

Phil frowns. “Yes? I’m not stupid. Jesus, Nick.” He gestures. “Did you _see_ him? I know you’re straight, but come on - Clint is smart, gorgeous, and might actually be interested in me. I’d be an idiot not to at least try.”

“You’re definitely not stupid,” Nick agrees, leaning back, “but, what I meant was, are you sure that you want to get involved with someone who’s actually moving into town? Barton’s going to get here, and he’s going to settle in. It might be awkward if - ”

“If it goes badly, I know,” Phil grumbles. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about it.”

Surprisingly, Nick shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I was getting at. You’re both professionals. I don’t know Barton very well, but I do know you - you wouldn’t let anything get in the way of the work.”

Phil smiles. They’re a long way from their army days, when a gruff, decorated Nick Fury had grabbed his skinny ass and hauled him away from the front line, muttering, “You’re too smart to get yourself killed doing something stupid,” but Phil still appreciates praise from Nick the way he doesn’t from anyone else. “Thanks.”

Nick shrugs with one shoulder. “It’s the truth. What I meant, though, is that Clint’s made a commitment to this town. He’s staying.” He pierces Phil with a look. “Are you?”

Phil sits up straighter in his chair. “Of course I am.”

“Are you?” Nick asks again. “Because you don’t have to, Phil. Everyone knows that you haven’t been happy here. I figured things would settle down once you got your mother’s estate squared away, but they haven't. You don’t have to stay, Phil.”

“But I want to,” Phil protests. He’s more sure about that today than he is most days. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t been a bundle of roses lately, but I don’t - I’m not _leaving,_ Nick. Sure, I miss the army, but I’m settled here. I have my job, I have my friends, I have you - ”

“You know I’d be fine without you?” Nick points out gently. “I followed you to this town after your mother died because I knew you needed a friend, and I stayed because once I was done with the army, I didn’t have anywhere else to go, but I’m good here, now. I’ve got a job running things, and you know that’s always what I’ve wanted to do. I like it here. I’ll be fine if you leave.”

Phil grips his coffee mug tighter. “I know you would.”

“Okay, then.” Nick shakes his head. “Just think about it, Phil. Don’t feel pressured to do anything. You know you could get a job anywhere in the country with a résumé like yours. We’d be a little strapped here, and we’d miss you like hell, but we’d understand. We’d make it work. Don’t stay for us or for me or for Barton. Just figure out what it is you want to do.”

 

*

 

Phil does Nick the courtesy of thinking about it, dismisses the idea of leaving, and then gets home at the end of the day and ends up thinking about it again. He sits on his mother’s couch in his mother’s living room and wonders where he would be right now if he’d never moved back to Shield Lake. Would be still be with the army?

He doesn’t think so. He’d loved the army, and it had welcomed him, but that kind of life wears on a person after a while. He thinks he would have left. He probably wouldn’t have come back to Shield Lake, though. He would have taken a position at an emergency room in a big center, maybe New York, and he’d be working harried shifts dealing with all kinds of trauma.

Here… Well, life isn’t like that. Besides the occasional highway accident, there aren’t a lot of stabbings, or shootings, or very much violent crime. They have heart attacks and pulmonary embolisms, and people fall off of ladders and down stairs. There’s still a lot of interesting medicine, but it’s of a different type than the kind he saw in the army and that he’d be dealing with if he were back in New York.

Or is it? People get sick everywhere. Emergency doctors have to deal with it. That’s the nature of the job.

Phil putters around for a solid week, thinking things over. He finally sits down with Melinda in the doctors’ lounge after a particularly easy shift. “Do you think I’m happy here?”

Melinda puts down her tea. “Only you can answer that, Phil.”

He frowns. “I know, and I’ve been trying to, but I don’t - ” He huffs. “I don’t feel _unhappy._ I like my job, and my friends. I think about packing up and moving to New York, starting a new job and - ” He shakes his head. “I don’t want that. Still, there’s something about the idea that appeals.”

“What about it?”

“I… don’t know.” Phil fiddles with his coffee cup. “Maybe the moving part? Being surrounded by things that don’t necessarily remind me of my mother. At first it was comforting, but now, I think, I need some kind of a change.”

Melinda nods. 

“I loved my mother,” Phil goes on, turning the cup over in his hands, “and I moved back here because she died, but things are settled now. Her patients have been taken care of and the office has passed to Maria and Sharon and Blake. I don’t have to stay just because she isn’t here any more. I don’t want to forget about her, but...”

“What _do_ you want?” Melinda asks.

“I want to go on a date with Clint,” Phil says slowly, and then blushes. “Is that dumb?”

Melinda raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not saying that I’m staying in town for him,” Phil hurries to explain. “I like it here, and I’m ninety-five percent sure that I don’t want to move regardless, but I have to admit that the fact that he’s here now means something to me. I don’t even know the guy, not really, and he’s going to be here all the time, which means things could get awkward fast, but - I don’t know. I like him.” He looks down into his coffee. “It’s been a long time since I’ve liked someone like that.”

Melinda watches him. “What do you want to do about it?” she finally asks.

Phil doesn’t have to think about that. “I want to get to know him better.”

“Okay, then,” Melinda says, and picks up her tea. 

Phil nods. It’s a start.

 

*

 

Clint’s moving to town the day before Thanksgiving, which means he won’t have anything planned for the holiday, so Phil decides to host a dinner at his house. He asks Nick to make the turkey, because despite a career in the army, Nick has still managed to learn the essential life skills that Phil never has. Maria makes her sweet potato casserole, Jasper brings a battalion of cheeses, Bruce arrives with stuffing, Melinda bakes fresh bread, and Wade turns up with a suspicious-looking salad. Natasha arrives with cranberry sauce and honey-dipped Russian desserts.

“Mmm,” Phil says, taking the platter from her arms, “chak-chak.” 

“No sampling,” Natasha warns. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Phil protests, “though I will say that Wade is in the kitchen. Your only saving grace is that neither Tony nor Sharon has arrived yet.”

Natasha grumbles something indistinct about thick-fingered billionaires and takes her platter back, heading for the dessert table. 

The doorbell rings again and Phil, chuckling, turns back. He’s expecting it to be Pepper, Tony, and Rhodey, and feels his eyes widen when he realizes that it’s Clint.

“Hello,” Phil breathes.

Clint looks, if possible, even better than he did in October. He’s wearing a warm sweater and worn jeans, and the scarf that’s knotted around his neck is uneven in the unpracticed way that means it’s probably hand-made. His hair is a tad longer than it was a month ago and his cheeks are bright from the cold, but the smile that lights his face is the same. “Hi.”

Nick had passed along the message from Clint that he’d be arriving late and wouldn’t need help moving in, as all he had was some luggage and a laptop case. The rental house Nick had found for him came fully furnished. Phil had emailed Clint directions to his mother’s house, but had refrained from writing anything personal in the invitation besides a sincere hope that Clint would come. He hadn’t been sure what else to say.

Seeing Clint here, now, it's much easier than it had seemed sitting in front of his laptop screen to smile and invite Clint into the house. “Come in, come in. Almost everyone else has arrived.”

“You only say that because we’re here now,” Tony calls from the driveway, leaning out of the window of his Mercedes. “Don’t worry,” he goes on as he steps out of the car, “the party can start now.”

Pepper, following him out of the car, shakes her head, and Rhodey, in the back, sighs loudly. 

“We talked about this,” Rhodey says, trying to sound stern but clearly holding back a smile. “You’re a guest. Be nice.” To Phil, he explains, “Tony had a good catch today. He’s still riding high.”

“An occult nondisplaced fracture in a seventy-five year old with a normal x-ray,” Tony boasts, shoving his scarf in Phil’s hand. “I think she has early-stage multiple myeloma which, you know, sucks and everything, but I’m going to refer her on to Brucie, so he’ll take care of her.” He leans around Phil to glance inside. “Is he here yet? I want to tell him about her.”

“No medicine at the dinner table,” Phil reminds him, knowing it’s a lost cause. It’s impossible to get a group of doctors together for any length of time without someone ending up talking shop. “Bruce is in the kitchen.”

“Perfect,” Tony says, and buzzes past him. “Hey, Barton!” he says, finding Clint and clapping him on the shoulder. “Glad you could join us!”

Rhodey takes Tony’s scarf out of Phil’s hand and unwinds his own from his neck. “Should I toss these in the guest room?”

“Yes, please,” Phil says. “There’s a pile of jackets and such on the bed. Pepper,” he greets, taking her hands when she offers them. “It’s lovely to see you.”

“And you, too,” Pepper says, smiling like the goddess she is. “I brought non-alcoholic beverages, for Bruce and Tony, and wine, because the rest of us will likely need it. Shall I put them in the kitchen?”

“I can do it,” Phil protests.

“It’s not a problem,” Pepper reassures him, gliding by. “Hello, Clint.”

“Hello,” Clint says. “You’re looking lovely tonight, Doctor Potts.”

Pepper laughs. “Thank you. Sometimes it pays to live with two men who like to pamper me. Rhodey did my nails and Tony did my hair.”

“Ah ha,” Clint says, laughing. “Your secrets are revealed.”

“I’m afraid so,” she agrees with a smile. There’s a loud exclamation from the kitchen, and Pepper winces. “I’d better go moderate.”

Clint waves her off and then joins Phil by the door. “So,” he says, in a low voice, “her, Tony, and Rhodey?”

“The most scandalous thing to happen in this town since I came out when I was fifteen,” Phil tells him with a smile. “Everyone’s adjusted very well, though. I think most people figure it’s just Tony being Tony, at least until they meet Pepper and Rhodey.”

“It’s good to see people being so accepting,” Clint says. “Nick mentioned that this was an okay town to be bisexual in, but still…” he trails off.

“It helps to see proof?” Phil suggests. “I agree. I was pretty terrified to come out, back in the day. The town was even smaller than, if you can believe it. My mother was the only family doctor in town, and I was kind of locally famous.”

“An opposed to now, when you’re internationally famous,” Clint teases. “I’ve heard all about the ‘decorated army doctor,’ you know.”

Phil winces. “Oh lord, please no.”

Clint’s eyes twinkle. “Oh, yes. Tony showed me the clip in the paper. Of course, he showed me his own clips, too.”

“Tony has _certainly_ made more local news than I have,” Phil says firmly. “His family maintained a mansion near here and no one was more surprised than we were when he moved back.”

Clint shrugs. “He said he needed a change after New York. I read about his legal troubles, I think everyone did, and it’s nice to see that he’s comfortable here.” Clint looks sideways at Phil. “I understand the urge to escape the big city by moving to a smaller town, after all.”

“Why Shield Lake?” Phil asks. “You must have had other options.”

Clint looks away, clearly uncomfortable, and licks his lips. “I - ”

“Phil!” Jasper calls, barreling into the hallway. “There you are! Come on, I’m hungry, isn’t the food ready yet? Oh!” He stops. “Sorry. Um. Hi, Clint.”

“Hi, Jasper,” Clint says, sounding equal parts amused and relieved. “Is Maria starving you?”

Jasper scowls. “She wouldn’t let me eat all day.”

Phil has no desire to push Clint, so he steps away, walking in the direction of the dining room. “Did she say her sweet potato casserole would be worth it?”

 

“She did, actually,” Jasper admits, “and she’s right, because it’s going to be amazing, which is why I want to _eat it._ Are we ready?” When Phil nods, Jasper bellows, “Did you hear that? Food time! Everyone get your asses to the table!”

There’s a hurried scramble for chairs among the enthusiastic - namely Jasper and Wade, although Tony’s in there, too, and Nick’s walking in that measured way that means he _wants_ to hurry but is holding himself back - and a more sedate amble towards the dining room from everyone else. Phil busies himself making sure glasses are filled with appropriate liquids and touches Pepper’s shoulder in thanks when he realizes the non-alcoholic substitutes he’d bought in preparation have already been emptied. 

She smiles and Phil makes sure to place a bottle of pop between Tony and Bruce, who have commandeered one corner of the table, with Pepper sandwiched between them. Rhodey sits on Tony’s right.

The table is a giant, sprawling thing, able to seat fourteen with, if not ease, then at least moderate comfort. Phil feels a pang when he thinks about his decision and the idea of placing it in storage, but he’s also glad that he got to use it, at least one more time.

Everyone else takes their places and Phil finds himself sandwiched between Nick and Clint. Phil looks around once everyone’s settled and smiles. He raises his glass. “To the chefs!”

“To the chefs!” everyone agrees, laughing. They all take a sip. A smattering of discussion starts, but Tony pauses it by clearing his throat.

“I, er, a - ” he starts. “There was this - well, this _thing_ we used to do, well, I used to do, with Jarvis, and, okay, we only did it once, but I liked it, and then Jarvis died, so we didn’t do it again, but - ” He jumps when Pepper puts a hand on his arm, but she smiles at him encouragingly, and Tony smiles hesitantly back. “We don’t have to, er, do it, or anything, but I thought it’d be - well, it might be nice,” he finishes lamely.

“What is it?” Rhodey asks. 

Tony checks Rhodey’s face and then, seemingly reassured, looks over the rest of the table. Everyone is smiling and nodding, so Tony goes on a little more confidently. “It’s this thing where you all say something that you’re thankful for. I know it’s kind of dumb, and cheesy, but it isn’t often that we’re all together like this, so I’d start by saying that I’m thankful for that,” Tony says. “I’m thankful that we’re all here, and that you all put up with me, especially Rhodey and Pepper.” His leg starts bouncing under the table, jostling the place settings, until Rhodey puts a hand on his thigh. He’s smiling, soft and sweet, and Tony settles.

“I think that’s a great idea, Tony,” Rhodey says. “I’d like to say that I’m thankful for being here with all of you, especially Pepper and Tony, and I’m thankful to Phil for hosting us.”

Everyone gives a “hear, hear!” cheer and raises their glasses. Phil smiles awkwardly and accepts their thanks. He doesn’t feel like he’s done very much - he didn’t even make any food - but he’s glad that everyone is present.

And that Clint’s here.

“Ah, I guess it’s my turn next,” Clint says, seated as he is on Rhodey’s right. Phil watches Clint nervously play with his knife, turning it over and over between his fingertips, but when he looks up to glance around the table, his gaze is sure. “I’d like to say that I’m thankful for being invited, not just to dinner, but to Shield Lake. I’m looking forward to getting to know all of you. I - ” he looks away, darts a glance at Phil, and blushes. “Yeah,” he says. “Um, that’s all I’ve got.”

Phil smiles. “I’m thankful that you’re all here as well,” he says, looking first at Clint but then around the table. “I know it probably seems like I’ve been…” he trails off, “less than thankful during the past couple of years, but I really do appreciate living here. I appreciate working with all of you. It’s been pointed out to me that maybe some things need to change, though,” he says, looking at Nick, “and I agree. Which is why I’d like to make a small announcement.” 

Phil clears his throat. To his side, he can see Nick tensing up, and he’s not the only one. Around the table, people are sharing worried glances, biting their lips. Clint’s eyes have gone wide.

Phil feels a frisson of worry - have things really gotten this bad? Do people honestly expect him to move away? - but at the same time, he’s touched. “I’m not leaving,” Phil reassures them, “and I’m not giving up my job, but I am going to sell the house.” He touches the table, old and worn, and deeply loved. “I’m especially thankful that you all could come to dinner, because this is going to be the last great hurrah of the Coulson Homestead.”

There’s a smattering of “aww’s” from around the table. More than a few people relax, obviously relieved, and Phil’s surprised to see that Tony’s one of them. 

“Jesus, Coulson, give us a collective heart attack, why don’t you,” he grumbles half-heartedly.

Pepper squeezes Tony’s hand in sympathy, shooting Phil a smile. “That’s wonderful, Phil. I’m glad to hear that you’ve got a plan to help yourself feel better. I know you’ve lived here since your mother died, and while it’s a wonderful house,” she says, glancing around at the furniture he's never bothered to redecorate, “it doesn’t exactly scream ‘you.’”

Phil laughs. He finds himself glancing at Clint again, who’s now relaxed and smiling. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

Nick, on Phil’s right, rolls his eye so hard it has to hurt. “Well then, can I say that _I’m_ thankful that this jackass finally got his head screwed on straight,” he lifts a glass, “and hope that it doesn’t come loose for a long time to come.”

“Hear, hear,” people echo. Phil shakes his head, but accepts the toast.

“I’m also thankful that we’ve had our first successful recruitment in eighteen months,” Nick goes on, nodding to Clint. “I’d like to welcome Doctor Barton to the table, and to the Shield Lake medical community.”

The cheers are louder this time. Phil joins in on the toast.

They continue going around the table - Jimmy is thankful for their new EMR update, Maria is thankful for family, and Jasper is thankful that it’s almost time for food. Bruce and Pepper are last, and then it is, to Jasper’s loud relief, finally time to eat. 

Dinner is delicious, and the conversation is lively. As predicted, Phil loses what control he had over the topic of conversation and it slides inevitably towards medicine, but at least there’s a rousing discussion about informed consent, and Clint even pipes in his two cents from his residency days.

By the time dessert winds down, everyone is overfull and content. Phil takes coffee orders and retires to the kitchen. After a few minutes, Clint follows him.

“This was a lovely meal, thank you for inviting me,” he says, standing ready with the mugs. Phil’s still waiting for his mother’s ancient coffee machine to chug to life. 

“I’m glad you could come,” Phil tells him honestly. His stomach contracts with nerves, but it’s now or never, really, and now seems like a perfectly good time. “I was wondering, well, our last date was kind of interrupted, but I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me? Again?”

Clint smiles, quiet and real and honest. “I’d like that.”

“Okay,” Phil says, grinning. The machine beeps. “Great.”

 

*

 

Of course, it’s November. Flu season starts with a bang and Phil’s shifts at the ER are quickly filled with coughing patients, distressed asthmatics, and wheezing COPDers. Phil tries to encourage people to get a flu shot, but more than half of his patients refuse, and at least a quarter of them show up a week later in the grips of the worst flu epidemic Phil’s ever seen, though that could be in part because _this_ year he has something else to do after his shift besides stagger home and pass out. He groans when yet _another_ teetering congestive heart failure patient goes into full-blown CHF. At least he gets to call Clint for the consult. It’s the only interaction they’ve managed for the past week.

“Doctor Barton, calling back,” Clint says after Phil’s paged him.

“I’ve got another one for you,” Phil answers.

Clint laughs. “Are you sure? You aren’t just calling to say hi?”

“I _could_ be calling to say hi,” Phil tells him. “In fact, one day I _will_ just call to say hi, but right now I actually have another admission for you.”

“All right, all right, let me guess - it’s a sixty-five year old diabetic with an ejection fraction of thirty-five?” Clint’s voice is teasing.

“Close,” Phil admits. “Five-five, ejection fraction of forty, but she smokes.”

“Jesus, Coulson,” Clint says. “This town is filled with sick people.”

“That’s why we needed you,” Phil says with a smile.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Clint declares cheerfully. “I’ll finish up here and be down in twenty.”

“Sounds good,” Phil says, and then hangs up the phone. His fingers linger on the receiver. He resolves to finish his next patient interaction in fifteen minutes so he at least has time to smile at Clint before he has to run.

Of course, just when he decides this, the red phone rings. It’s a special line that sits behind the counter and provides a direct link from the paramedics to the emergency room. Phil watches Mack - the RN on duty - answer it with a sinking heart. Sure enough, it’s Jessica, one of the paramedics, coming in hot with a cardiac arrest. Phil sighs and goes to prep the resuscitation room.

Phil completely misses Clint’s entrance, focused as he is on intubating a difficult airway while Mack does chest compressions. It’s touch and go for a while, but Phil _thinks_ they managed to get the heart restarted in time. Maybe. At this point, only time will tell.

He goes back to the nurses' station to notify the intensivist on call - it’s Bruce - and sees a familiar blonde head hunched over a patient chart. “Clint?”

Clint looks up with a smile. “Hey. How did it go? I didn’t want to bother you.”

Phil feels a good deal of the stress he’s carrying on his shoulders evaporate at the clear fondness in Clint’s eyes. “It went okay. I’m going to call Bruce, he’s on call for the ICU. How’s your day going?”

Clint chuckles. “It’s busy. The wards are full. Is flu season always this bad in Shield Lake?”

“I don’t know, I usually just grit my teeth and bear it,” Phil admits. “This one sure _feels_ like the worst on record, though. That could be because I’ve been trying and failing to find an afternoon free to ask you out.”

Clint’s eyes brighten. “What about Saturday?”

“You’re on call Saturday,” Phil points out. He’s been obsessively checking the schedule.

“Not any more,” Clint corrects, “Steve just came and found me. Apparently an old friend is going to be in New York next week, so he offered me a trade. He’ll do this weekend for me and I’ll do next weekend for him.”

Phil grins. “That’s perfect! I’m off all day Saturday.”

“Awesome,” Clint says. He bounces lightly on his toes. “So, what do you want to do?”

Phil opens his mouth to respond, but frantic beeping from the resuscitation room silences him. 

“Doctor Coulson?” Mack calls.

Phil closes his mouth. He winces at Clint.

“Go, go.” Clint shoos him away, laughing. “Go save a life, or at least do your best. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

Phil nods and turns back to his crashing patient. Phil pushes Clint out of his mind and refocuses on treatment. He might not be able to save this man, but he’s sure as hell going to try.

 

*

 

Phil’s shift on Friday is miraculously quiet. He pedals back to the house on his bicycle, hoping the worst of flu season is over. It’d be nice if things settled down before Christmas.

The house is in a state of half-packed transition, boxes scattered on every available surface. Phil had never realized his mother was such a pack-rat. He’s discovered childhood treasures, moldy artwork, old jewelry, and a few precious, treasured letters. His father’s dress blues have been hanging in the back of his closet for years. Phil hadn’t known that. 

Since he’s made it home with some brain power intact, Phil decides to do a little more sorting before calling it a night. He needs something to do to distract him, anyway. The date with Clint is looming - pleasantly, but still intimidatingly - in his mind. 

Phil goes down to the basement and starts in on a new corner. It isn’t long before he’s fingering photo albums and throwing away junk. Under a pile of snowsuits he’ll probably donate to charity - if they even want them, these must be from the seventies, good god - he finds a pair of hiking boots and some camping gear.

The sight makes Phil smile. He’d loved camping as a kid. Wandering out into the wilderness that surrounded Shield Lake, finding puddles and lakes and lightning-struck trees. It’d fueled his thirst for adventure.

Maybe that’s one more thing he’s forgotten since moving home. Phil leaves his sorting and heads back upstairs, rooting around in his closet. He’d dropped his army stuff in a corner the moment he’d gotten home, too preoccupied with organizing the funeral to bother with it all. He’d pulled it out of a pile sometime last year - or maybe the year before - and at least hung stuff up, but he hadn’t done more than that. It should all still be there.

Sure enough, Phil finds his army boots. They're scuffed and caked with dirt, probably from the last exercise he’d been on before returning home, but serviceable. They’ll make better hiking boots than any he’d buy at a store. The army makes things to last. 

He’s probably lost all his old calluses, but Phil decides he doesn’t care. He cleans the boots and leaves them by the front entrance.

The next day, Clint calls. “Good morning,” he says cheerfully. “How are you this beautiful day?”

“Better now,” Phil admits, standing at his kitchen counter. 

“What did I say about flattery?” Clint asks with a laugh.

“That it will get me everywhere,” Phil answers with a grin. “Of course, I could have been talking about my coffee. Melinda got me some genuine Costa Rican coffee for my birthday last year. Mmmm.”

Clint chuckles. “So I _shouldn’t_ meet you this morning with a double latte and a pile of croissants from Darcy’s?”

“Hey, now, let’s not be hasty. You know the only thing better than coffee is - ”

“More coffee,” Clint finishes Wade’s favourite saying with a laugh. “Man, there are a lot of characters in this town, but I think Wade Wilson is the strangest.”

“He is definitely unique,” Phil admits. “I’m not sure how Natasha puts up with him.”

“Are they together?”

“I don’t think so, but they are good friends. Of course, he’s a brilliant surgeon, but…”

“I don’t have any competition there?” Clint asks. Phil can tell that he’s smiling.

“None whatsoever,” Phil says truthfully. “Not anywhere.”

Clint’s silent for a moment over the line. Phil clears his throat, hoping he didn’t say too much. “Anyway, I was thinking, for today - how do you feel about hiking?”

Clint clears his throat. His voice, when he speaks, is raspy. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”

“Well, then,” Phil starts, nervously, “what do you say to experiencing new things? We don’t have to go out very long - actually, we probably shouldn’t, since my feet aren’t used to this anymore and yours definitely won’t be - but we could do an hour-long trail, maybe. There’s a nice one that winds around the town. It’ll be a little cold this time of year, but the leaves will still be beautiful.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Clint says. “I don’t have hiking boots, though. Will running shoes be okay?”

“They should be. We can give it a try, at least. If we aren’t having fun, we can turn back.”

“Perfect. So where should I meet you?”

“Well,” Phil teases, “you _did_ promise me coffee.”

Clint laughs. “Darcy’s it is.”

 

*

 

The air is crisp, the trees are colourful, and the trail is - unsurprisingly - empty. Phil and Clint take their time meandering down the wandering paths. The ground is fairly flat, except where it rises occasionally over rocks and hills, and it’s different enough from what Phil had remembered that he has to consciously keep track of his surroundings or risk getting lost. 

It might have been off-putting to do this by himself, but with Clint here, it’s a joy. He can’t help but point out certain rock croppings or overgrown thickets.

“I’m ninety-five percent certain that is where I tried my first cigarette,” Phil says, when they reach the remains of a lightning-struck tree. The giant had been taken down by a powerful storm sometime after Phil’s sixteenth birthday, and he still remembers crouching under its imposing branches and thumbing the wheel of the Bic lighter.

Clint’s smile is infectious. “You smoked? You rebel, you.”

Phil laughs. “I had a leather jacket, too, and a problem with authority.” He shakes his head. “Of course, this is also the place where I decided I wanted to go into medicine, so…”

Clint cocks his head. “What happened?”

Phil smiles at the memory. “I was kissing Glenn Talbot. He was a real stick-in-the-mud, but he had a great ass. We were hiking together on a class trip and I pulled him into the thicket,” Phil points just ahead to the bend in the trail, “around there. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but it turned out that Talbot was allergic to poison ivy. I pulled him down and then suddenly his throat closed up and his lips turned blue.”

Clint winces.

“Yeah,” Phil says with a laugh. “It kind of killed the mood.” He sobers. “I was terrified. My hands were shaking so bad, I almost couldn’t get the cap off of his epipen. It was the old design, I don’t know if you ever saw them, but they had this great big giant black top to them - ” Phil illustrates with his hands. “Anyway. I finally got it off and stabbed it into his thigh. By that point, the teacher had heard the commotion and come running, and about half the class was standing there, staring, and I don’t think any one of us breathed until Talbot did.” 

Clint blinks. “Wow. So that’s what made you decide to go into medicine?”

Phil nods. “Staring at him, watching him breathe, I felt like I had found my purpose.” He looks at Clint and blushes. “I never had any role models growing up besides my mother. I hadn’t really understood what she did until then. I got home from the hiking trip and told her I was enlisting in the military and becoming a doctor at the same time.”

Clint smiles sadly. “I bet she was terrified.”

“I think she was,” Phil agrees slowly, “but at the time, I didn’t know that. I thought she was proud that I had finally found what I wanted to do with my life, and of course she was, but I realized later that she was scared, too. She had reason to be. It wasn’t easy being in the military, but I wouldn’t give up those years for anything.”

“Do you regret coming back?” Clint asks.

Phil shakes his head. “No. I had been planning to sign on for another tour when my mother died, but I don’t think, in retrospect, that I would have finished it. I would have found somewhere else to go, somewhere else to belong. I loved the army, and I feel like I did some good there, but it was starting to wear on me just the same.” He shifts his shoulders, trying to lighten the mood. “What about you? Why did you go into medicine?”

Clint turns away. “We… moved around a lot, when I was a kid,” he says finally. “It was difficult, and I got hurt sometimes, but I never went to the hospital. Doctors were scary, you know? They were part of the system. They could change a lot of things for me. One day, though, I got hurt really bad, more than we could fix on our own, and someone called 911. I was terrified, but, in the end, everything turned out fine. Better than fine. The doctor who treated me was a really good guy. He helped me get some distance on my former life, enough to see that what I thought was okay, actually wasn’t. I realized that I maybe hadn’t been doing as well as I thought.”

Phil presses their shoulders together. Clint throws him a half-smile. “Sorry. I guess that was a little more cryptic than I meant. It isn’t an easy thing to talk about.”

“Then I’m sorry that I asked, but I’m not sorry that you told me,” Phil tells him softly. 

“Thanks,” Clint says, just as quietly. He presses his shoulder more firmly into Phil’s. “Anyway, when I got a little older and had to decide what I wanted to do with my life, I thought maybe I’d go into medicine. It took a while, because I was the very definition of a ‘non-traditional’ student, but it worked out. And here I am.”

“Here you are,” Phil agrees, “and I’m very glad that you are.”

Clint’s smile turns a touch more real. “Me too.”

They grin at each other for a moment, and then Phil nods at the scenery in front of them. “So, after that, why Shield Lake?”

“I actually visited here, a couple of times, when I was a kid,” Clint admits. “Here and a few other towns along the highway. I planned on coming back here some day, maybe doing a roadtrip or two, when I stumbled upon the recruitment package Shield Lake offered.”

Phil peers at him. “You remembered this place? Really? I can’t think of anything here that’d be noteworthy enough.”

Clint smiles. “Oh, there were a couple of things.”

 

*

 

November melts into December, the weather grows colder, and the first snowfall appears. Phil opens the living room curtains to watch the flakes drift down while he scrolls through housing listings online. Real estate in Shield Lake isn’t exactly hopping, but there are enough out-of-towners who maintain property in the community - for hunting and fishing, mostly - to keep the selection fairly fresh. Phil spots a two bedroom, single bathroom bungalow that sounds promising, and clicks on the page.

A knock at his door startles him. Phil peers out of the living room windows to see a well-bundled figure standing on his front porch. He leaves his chair and hurries to the door. “Clint?”

Clint shoots him a grin from somewhere under three layers of material. “Hi, Phil!”

“Come in, my goodness, what are you wearing?” Phil can’t help but ask. 

Clint shrugs. “Darcy knitted me a scarf for Christmas. She said she was going to give it to me later, but the snow started, so she wouldn’t let me leave until she’d dug it out. Did you know that she lives in an apartment above her shop?”

“I did know that, actually, I helped her move in. Well, me and Thor, so it was mostly just me directing things and carrying the occasional box while Thor did all the heavy lifting.” He takes Clint’s coat, and, under that, his _other_ coat. “Are you sick?”

“What?” Clint asks, sliding off his hat and revealing a messy tumble of hair. “Me? No. I just hate being cold. Anyway, here - ” He shoves a disposable mug at Phil - “I just came to give you this. Darcy says it’s your favourite.”

Phil lifts the mug to his nose and takes a whiff. It’s a gingerbread cinnamon latte, with peppermint sprinkles, the kind Darcy only makes this time of the year. “Ohh, this is a treat. Thank you, Clint.”

Clint’s cheeks turn pink, even pinker than they had been, and he looks away. “You’re welcome. I went in to get a coffee and Darcy mentioned that you’d be home this time of night, that you weren’t on shift today, so I asked her to make me one.” He lifts his own, matching mug. “Or, rather, two. They’re really good.”

“They are,” Phil agrees. “Darcy’s coffee skills are legendary.”

Clint nods. They stand in awkward silence for a moment, before blurting out at the same time - 

“Do you want to come inside?”

“Do you want to go outside?”

They stare at each other.

“I mean, um, you’re already inside,” Phil explains, because now it’s apparently _his_ turn to blush, “but you could take your shoes off and sit down. I was going to order some pizza for dinner.”

“Pizza sounds awesome,” Clint agrees, “but, um, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go for a walk? It’s not really that cold out if you bundle up properly, and the snow is pretty neat.”

Phil blinks. He can’t actually remember the last time he went for a walk in the snow, for pleasure and not because he wasn’t ready to give up his morning jog. “Sure. I’d - that’d be nice, actually.” He checks the thermometer his mom hung outside the living room window when he was four. “Do you think a scarf would be enough?”

Clint grins, his eyes sparkling. “I have no idea. Wear whatever you like, but I’m taking back my coat, that’s for sure.” He shrugs the double layer on.

In the end, Phil goes with a heavy winter coat and a light scarf, as well as a wool hat he tugs down over his ears. He grabs a pair of gloves but leaves them in his pocket, and takes his latte with him into the snow. “Wow,” he says, looking up, “it’s gorgeous out.”

It really is. The snow is falling in gentle flakes, coming down out of a darkened sky, just thick enough to coat the ground in a thin veneer. 

“Like something out of a Christmas card,” Clint agrees, his breath just visible in the cool air.

Phil decides to be brave, and reaches out for Clint’s hand. They’ve only had one date together, but he very much wants to touch Clint right now. Clint looks surprised for a second, but then smiles, takes Phil’s palm, and tangles their fingers together. Phil feels the heat of Clint's touch radiate all the way up his arm.

“Come on,” Phil says, tugging him forward. “Let’s go for a walk.”

 

*

 

They spend a half hour strolling down the street, and then end up at Darcy’s to thank her for the coffee. They choose a selection of pastries and take them home, and then Phil calls for pizza while Clint hangs up their things. Phil puts the phone down just as Clint comes back into the kitchen. “Pizza says it’ll be here in about twenty minutes.”

“Perfect,” Clint says, sliding forward into Phil’s space. He lifts his hands, hesitates, and then reaches forward to slide them around Phil’s hips. “Tell me to stop if you want me to stop.”

“Never stop,” Phil breathes. His voice hitches when Clint kisses him. It’s a chaste kiss, closed mouth with no tongue, but it sets his nerves on fire. He gasps into Clint’s mouth. “Oh god, please do that again.”

Clint grins, his lips turning up against Phil’s. They kiss again, slightly less chaste this time, and Phil reaches around Clint’s back to tug him closer. Their hips slide together, just a bare press of cloth, but it’s enough to make Phil groan.

Clint laughs. “I’d better be careful,” he teases, stepping back again. “I don’t want you to think I’m easy.”

“I have wanted to take you to bed since the first moment I saw you,” Phil says, “and you just took me for a romantic walk in the snow. I think we’re due for at least another kiss.”

Clint bites his lower lip, his eyes dancing over Phil’s face. “Yeah? How much of a kiss? And what parts am I allowed to touch?”

Phil smiles. “We’re not in fifth grade, Clint. We’re two grown adults.” He steps towards Clint. “I have to tell you that I want very much to undress you and take you to bed, slide to my knees and suck you down deep, but I won’t do that if you’re not ready.” 

Clint moans and pulls Phil forward, slotting their hips together again, his broad hands warm and sure on Phil’s back. “Fuck, you can’t say things like that, or I’m going to come in my pants like a teenager.”

“That would be very messy,” Phil says with a grin, “and we can’t have that.” He pulls Clint out of the kitchen and towards the living room. “We have twenty minutes until the food arrives, so we can get your pants off, at least.”

They end up making out on the couch with their hands on each other, Clint in Phil’s lap and grinding down into him, their flies open and cocks bare. Phil feels alive, his nerves sparking as Clint’s hand slides over him, his weight perfect on Phil’s thighs.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Clint chants, breaking away from Phil’s kiss to arch his back, his nipples standing out sharply against the thin material of his shirt. “I’m going to come.”

“Yes,” Phil orders, his voice coming out gravelly. He can’t help it, Clint looks like pure sex. The only thing that could make this better would be if they were naked. “Yes, do it, come all over yourself.”

“Oh, _J-Jesus,_ ” Clint stutters, his voice cracking as Phil’s hand tightens around his cock. Clint comes with a groan, spurting onto his chest and staining his t-shirt, and Phil can’t last long after that.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he curses, cock spasming. Clint’s grip had loosened with his orgasm, but it’s tight enough to get the job done. Phil can’t quite manage the arc that Clint gets, and mostly ends up making a mess of his pants.

“God,” Clint groans, tipping himself forward and leaning into Phil’s chest. 

The move smears come over both of them, but Phil likes it. He turns his head and presses a kiss to Clint’s temple. “Sorry for getting demanding on you. We haven’t actually talked about that. We haven’t talked about much, actually.”

Clint chuckles. “You’ll find I’m much more of a ‘learn by doing’ kind of guy. Anyway, I liked it.” He ducks his head. Phil can feel his face warm. “I liked getting myself all messy, too.”

Phil groans and wraps his arms around Clint, holding him close. “I liked that as well,” he confesses. “It’s kind of a kink of mine.”

Clint pulls back to look Phil in the face. His grin is wicked. “I bet you didn’t have a lot of time for comeplay in the army.”

Phil can’t resist trying to kiss that smirk from Clint’s lips. “No,” he agrees, biting at Clint’s mouth. “Not so much.”

“I guess you have a lot of bottled up desires you need to release then,” Clint teases, wriggling in Phil’s lap. 

Phil groans. There is absolutely no way his dick could get hard again this quickly, but holy fuck, does it ever want to. “We have food coming, remember?”

Clint shrugs. “I didn’t exactly bring a change of clothes.” He grins. “I guess you’ll just have to open the door in your pajamas and leave me lying on the sofa, maybe with a blanket draped artfully, reeking of sex and satisfaction.” He nips at the skin of Phil’s throat.

Phil holds Clint in his arms and pulls a trick he remembers from his army days, rolling them so smoothly that before Clint’s realized what’s going on, his back is pressing into the couch and Phil’s weight is on top of him. “You,” he growls, snaking his hands under Clint’s shirt to squeeze his nipples, “are going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

“So much trouble,” Clint gasps, arching into the touch. He tips his head back as far as it can go, exposing the line of his throat. “So, _so_ much.”

“Good,” Phil says, biting once at his throat before going back to attacking Clint’s mouth. It’s sinfully soft and luscious and he never, ever wants to stop what they’re doing. _Never_.

The doorbell rings and Phil does, eventually, have to leave Clint on the sofa with a blanket draped artfully across him, a fact for which Phil will make him pay later. He bundles Clint into his bed, wrings a second orgasm out of him, and then bats Clint’s hands away when they gather enough energy to reach for Phil's pants.

“I’m good,” Phil tells him, shaking his head. His cock is half-hard, but he knows from experience that’s the most he’ll get out of it tonight.

Clint is gasping and shaking, aftershocks still rolling through him, but he manages to curl into Phil’s chest, murmuring, “Are you sure?”

Phil presses a kiss to his head. “I’m sure.” God, Clint feels fantastic here, warm and sated and nestled in his bed. Phil maneuvers them so they’re more comfortable, then pulls the blankets over them. “Sleep.”

“Mmm,” Clint agrees, already more than halfway gone. “Gonna. You. Don’t leave.”

Phil hugs him close. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

*

 

The morning is only awkward once Clint gets out of the shower. Phil is standing in the kitchen shifting his weight back and forth on his heels, and Clint pauses with one hand rubbing a towel over his hair. “Uh, what’s up?”

On his face is all the hesitant uncertainty that had been noticeably absent this morning. Clint had woken up still nestled in Phil’s arms and had looked so adorably soft that Phil had leaned over and kissed him. Clint had smiled against his lips, and they’d traded lazy touches until Clint had mumbled something about morning breath and coffee. Phil had laughed and swatted him in the direction of the shower, promising a fresh pot.

He’d found the computer still on as soon as he got to the living room, though, and his steps must have jostled the mouse. The screen had flickered to life and Phil had stared at the last page he’d been looking at before Clint had arrived last night. His eyes had kept straying to it while he'd brewed coffee. Even now, with Clint standing in front of him, Phil knows his eyes are darting to the screen.

“I, um,” he starts. “You know how I said that I’m selling this house?”

Clint nods, expression still wary. “Yeah.”

“Well, I was looking at listings last night, before you came over, and,” Phil reaches down to fiddle with the coffee pot, “I saw a place that I liked. I was thinking of going to look at it today.” He glances at Clint before quickly looking back to the pot. 

“Oh,” Clint says, blinking. “Yeah, of course. I can get out of your hair. You have things to do, and - ”

“Do you want to come with me?” Phil blurts out.

Clint stares at him.

“I mean,” Phil says, colouring, “just to keep me company. This is only going to be, like, our third date, and I don’t expect - I just want to know if you like it,” he finishes lamely.

Clint’s face breaks out into a slow grin. “You want me to come look at a house with you?”

Phil fidgets. “Yes. No. Only if you want to, I guess.”

“I’d love to,” Clint says. He’s still smiling.

Phil grins back. “Okay. I’ll call and make an appointment for sometime today.”

The realtor meets them at the property at ten o’clock. Phil likes it immediately. He’s seen a few houses since he decided to start looking, but this one is the perfect size, has a nice lawn, and is only a short bike ride from the hospital. It’s also fairly close to Darcy’s. Plus, it’s one floor, a fact which Phil appreciates, simply because of the convenience and not because his knees ache occasionally in bad weather or if it’s going to rain.

“What do you think?” Phil asks Clint, watching to gauge his reaction.

“I like it,” Clint declares. “It’s got good bones, no structural problems, and the electrical looks okay. I’d like to have a look at the roof, but I like it, Phil. It’s a nice house.”

Phil grins at his choice of compliments. “Do you moonlight as a house inspector, Doctor Barton?”

Clint flushes. “No, but I’ve lived in some crappy places over the years. I know how to spot hidden problems.”

“My crappy housing experience is more along the times of ‘I think the tent is leaking,’” Phil admits, “so I’m glad that you’re here to help.”

They head outside to check the roof, and then Phil shakes hands with the realtor and they leave. The spend the afternoon together before walking back to the hospital, where Phil starts his ER shift and Clint takes over hospitalist call from Steve. They part with a kiss. Phil’s thankful that it’s a quiet night, because reminiscing on the taste of Clint’s lips is distracting. 

To keep himself focused, he thinks of the house instead, going over a list of things that he needs to do next. Actually put an offer on the house, for one, get the home inspector - a licensed one - is two, and then he has to contact his lawyer, and arrange the financials…

For all the effort it takes, though, the procedure goes fairly quickly. By the next week, Phil finds himself the proud owner of a new home. 

“It’s move in ready,” the realtor assures him. “Any time you like.”

There’s barely two weeks left before Christmas, but Clint folds Phil’s hand over the key with a glint in his eyes. “We can do it,” he insists. “You don’t have that much stuff, and no one’s bought your mom’s place yet, so you can store what you don’t want to move right away. There’s the couch, and your desk, and the bed - you definitely need that,” he insists with a grin, “but we can do it. You know Jasper and Tony will help. Thor will, too. You can have Christmas in your new home.”

“I guess so,” Phil says cautiously. It sounds like a lot of work to impose on people in the middle of December. “What about you, though? Are you going back to New York for the holidays?”

Their shifts have been in conflict again for the past week, so while they’ve been texting almost daily, they haven’t spent much time together since the weekend they went to look at the house. Phil thinks there are a few key conversations they haven’t yet had, things like family situations and vacation plans, and what Clint’s doing for Christmas.

Clint shrugs. “Why would I? There’s nothing for me there.” He shifts his feet and looks away. “I won’t take up too much of your time, though. I know you have friends and plans. I _was_ hoping we could spend some time together? Maybe on Christmas Day?” 

He looks so hopeful that Phil knows he can’t say no, couldn't even if he wanted to. “I’d like that,” he tells Clint honestly. “My plans aren’t exactly extensive - we usually have a group party on the twenty-second and then sometimes Melinda and I will have breakfast together on the twenty-sixth. That’s about it.”

Clint beams. “So spending Christmas Day at your new place would be okay?”

“It would be amazing,” Phil assures him. “I would also like, I mean - stop me if this is moving too fast, but - I’d like you to spend Christmas Eve with me, if you want.”

Clint’s eyes go wide. Phil heart clenches. “I mean, it’s just you in that rented apartment, and I don’t know if you have any plans - you might have plans. If you have plans, that’s okay. But I was thinking maybe eggnog? And trimming the tree?” His fingers twist together nervously. “If you like.”

“I would love that,” Clint breathes. “I never - ” He stops and shakes his head. “I would love that, Phil. Let’s do that.”

Phil feels his shoulders relax. “Okay, it’s a date.”

 

*

 

They pick out a tree together at the grocery store lot. Clint had huffed and mentioned the saw they’d found while moving the contents of Phil’s garage to his new place, but Phil had rolled his eyes and put his foot down. “No, we are not hiking into the wilderness and chopping down a tree.” At Clint’s adorable pout, he’d relented. “At least, not this year.”

Clint’s grin had almost outshone the Christmas lights.

They wheel the tree home on a Playskool trike Phil had found in the garage, which is more fun than Phil could have anticipated. Somehow, even running from left to right around the tree to prevent it from falling off the undersized bike is fun when Clint is around. They make it to Phil’s new house, cheeks red from laughing, and Phil props it up in the insulated garage.

“Why can’t we bring it inside right away?” Clint asks.

Phil shakes his head. “It’s got to thaw out, and it’s going to make a mess while it does. Best to leave it here. Tomorrow, we can get a garbage bag and set the tree up over that to let the last of the branches drop. It won’t go into the tree mount for a few days yet.”

Clint nods like he knows exactly what Phil is talking about, with just enough seriousness that Phil cocks an eyebrow at him. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Clint flushes. “No.”

Phil smiles. “Did your family always buy plastic trees?”

Clint shrugs, turning away. “Something like that. Hey, do you want some eggnog?”

Phil _does_ want eggnog. They each take a full glass and retire to the couch. Phil likes his new home. It’s smaller than his mother’s house, but cosy. With Clint’s help, he’s managed to put some pictures up on the walls, organize his favourite books on the shelves, and alphabetize his movie collection. He’s moved in what furniture he wants, and he has an idea of what he needs to buy. The house isn’t done yet, but it’s comfortable just the same.

“This is good eggnog,” Clint says, perching beside Phil on the arm of the couch. He prefers to do that when he doesn’t have to sit down. It’s a quirk Phil finds adorable.

“It’s okay, but just wait until the Christmas party tomorrow,” Phil promises him. “Jasper makes his from scratch. It’s fantastic.”

Clint grins. “I look forward to trying it.”

“So what Christmas movie do you want to watch first?” Phil asks, gesturing to the TV. “I’ve got Netflix, so they have most of the originals. Plus there’s _The Santa Clause,_ _Elf,_ and other modern so-called ‘classics.’”

Clint laughs. “Do you realize I can _hear_ the air quotes when you speak?”

Phil rolls his eyes. “I’m not subtle.” He nudges Clint with his shoulder. “Go on. Pick one.”

“Hmm,” Clint says, thinking. “Which one’s your favourite?”

Phil shakes his head. “That’s not fair. You’re the guest, you get to pick.”

Clint looks down and bites his lip. The silence between them lengthens. Phil reaches out to lay his fingertips on Clint’s ankle before it can get truly uncomfortable. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Clint shrugs without looking up. “I don’t really, uh, have any favourites. I mean, there are movies that I’ve seen before and I’ve liked, but I haven’t - ” He swallows. “We didn’t watch Christmas movies at home when I was a kid.”

Phil blinks, surprised. “Really?”

Clint nods. He squirms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - ”

“No. Hey, no.” Phil interrupts. “It’s okay. I guess we’ll just have to watch all of them and you can decide after which one is your favourite, then.”

Clint looks up, startled. “You’d do that?”

“Of course I would. Here, I’ll start.” He gets up from the couch and searches through the stack of movies. “My favourite is the original _Christmas Carol_ with Reginald Owen. It’s a true classic, in every sense of the word.”

Clint smiles, slow and real. “Okay, put it on.”

Phil finds the correct DVD and slips it into the player. He rejoins Clint on the couch, pulling him closer. “You can choose the next one,” he promises.

Clint snuggles closer. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

*

 

Jasper teases them about it when they arrive the next day for the Christmas party. “You made it! I thought Phil would keep you on the couch all day. I heard from Melinda that the two of you were doing a Christmas Movie Marathon.” He leans in closer, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “Phil has _serious opinions_ about holiday classics.”

Phil rolls his eyes in a vain attempt to hide his blush, but Clint only laughs good-naturedly. 

“That he does,” Clint agrees. “It was fun, though. I’d never seen a bunch of them before.” They’d gotten through a ridiculous number of movies, some of which Phil hadn’t seen in years and others he never would have watched on his own.

“Which one was your favourite?” Jasper asks. “I like _Elf,_ myself.”

“That one was good,” Clint agrees, taking off his jacket, “but I think _The Muppet Christmas Carol_ is my favourite. It’s got a lot of the charm of the original, with enough silliness mixed in. Plus,” he says with a wink at Phil, “I’ve always had a thing for older men.”

Jasper laughs, but Phil frowns. “I’m not _that_ much older than you, am I?” 

Clint smiles. “Not really,” he reassures him. “I’ve always thought you looked older, though. It was hot.”

Phil thinks back. “You’ve always thought that? You mean, the day we first met in the ER?”

“Ah,” Clint stalls. His eyes dart between Phil and Jasper. “Yes?”

Phil blinks. 

Clint grimaces and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, so - let me preface this by saying that I wanted to tell you earlier, but it always seemed weird, and the timing never felt right, but then the longer I waited, the weirder it became, and so I didn’t know if I’d ever tell you and I figured it didn’t matter anyway.”

Phil stares at him. “Tell me what?”

Jasper, in an rare display of tact, quietly takes their coats and moves away, into the house. Phil, realizing they’re still standing in the entrance, takes Clint by the hand and leads him to a quiet back hallway instead. “Well?”

Clint opens and closes his mouth several times. “I… well, I remember you. Not from now, but from before.”

Whatever Phil had been expecting, that hadn’t been it. “Before? Before when?”

“Back when we were kids,” Clint says, raking a hand through his hair. “Okay, remember how you said the circus used to come to town? And Jasper hinted that you had a crush on one of the performers?”

Phil blushes. “Yes. The archery act.” 

“Well,” Clint says, shrugging helplessly, “he had a crush on you, too.”

Phil’s jaw drops open. “What? That was _you?_ You were the Amazing Hawkeye?”

Clint winces. “Yes, I was with the circus. We toured from the east coast to the west coast,” he says. “We came here about once a year, and, I don’t know, I remembered you. You’d always be sitting in the front row, and you looked so _enthralled,_ and you’d clap harder than anybody else I knew.” 

Phil wishes the floor would open up and swallow him. “You must have thought I was an idiot.”

“No! No, Phil, not at all.” Clint reaches for him, but stops short, letting his hand fall uselessly back to his side. “I didn’t - I can’t tell you what it meant to me, having someone there cheering, _every year,_ for _me._ I didn’t have a lot - or, really, any - fans of my own, who were just there for me, and,” he blushes, “of course, you probably weren’t, there were plenty of good acts, but it always felt like - when I saw you watching - it always felt like you were there for me.”

“I was,” Phil breathes. He reaches out and takes Clint’s hand. “Every year, I came just to see you. I don’t even remember the other acts, you’re the only one that I - ” He stops, a thought occurring to him. “Wait. You said that you moved around a lot when you were a kid.”

Clint nods. “The circus never stayed in one place for long.”

Phil narrows his eyes. “But you also said that something happened, that you got hurt, and that’s what prompted you to go into medicine.”

Clint winces, breaking eye contact with Phil. “Yeah.”

Phil squeezes his hand. “What happened?”

Clint stares at his feet for a long time, before he finally shifts his shoulders and lifts his eyes. “It wasn’t good, the circus. It wasn’t _bad,_ at least, I never thought so, but it wasn’t good. It got worse when my brother left. I couldn’t - I didn’t know _how_ to leave, or even if I could. I didn’t know where to go.” He shakes his head. “When I got hurt, the hospital staff helped me get away. They didn’t just throw me into the system and leave, they - they helped. I got fostered with a good family and even if I don’t talk with them very much any more, they were there for me when I needed them.”

Phil feels tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. “I came and watched you every year, and I never knew.”

“No one knew,” Clint assures him, moving easily into his arms. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Phil. You couldn’t have fixed this. The fact that you were there, that you watched me...” He ducks his head. “That meant a lot.”

Phil can’t help but kiss him. Clint melts into it, hanging onto him tightly. “Is that why you came back here?” Phil asks, when they eventually break apart. “Because of me?”

Clint flushes. “Not entirely. I really was looking for somewhere to work in the area. I’ve been all over the country and this part of it is my favourite. I figured I’d get a job, settle in, and then maybe ask around to find out whatever happened to the hot, older boy who used to sit in the front row of the circus with his leather jacket on.” Clint meets his eyes and smiles. “I never thought you’d be here, single, and interested in me as something other than a purple-costumed freak with good aim.”

Phil digs his fingers into Clint’s shoulders. “I liked the costume, and you’re _not_ a freak.”

Clint bites his lower lip. “I kind of am. I can hit anything that I’m aiming at, and my eyesight is really good, but I had a hard time getting through college, even if medical school wasn’t so bad once I was finally accepted into it. I’m much better at the practical stuff than I am at books and papers.”

“You’re an amazing physician,” Phil tells him, “and I’m not just saying that because I’m in love with you. Steve and Peggy can’t stop singing your praises, and Tony keeps saying you should have gone on to be an intensivist.”

Clint stares. “You’re in love with me?”

Phil blushes. He wants to duck his head, but now that the words are out, he knows he isn’t ashamed of them. This is how he feels. He just hopes that Clint’s okay with it. “Yes, I am.”

Clint swallows. He darts in, pressing a kiss to Phil’s lips, before leaning away again. “Good,” he breathes, “because I’m in love with you, too. _Jesus,_ Phil, you can’t just - ” he starts, but then they’re kissing again.

Phil holds Clint tight, and when that isn’t enough, backs him into the nearest vertical surface and keeps him there, blocking out the rest of the world from Clint’s view. Clint groans, wanton and loud, and Phil doesn’t care that they’re in the middle of a house full of people they like and work with, because he has terrible, wonderful, _fabulous_ things he wants to do to Clint right _now._

Predictably, it’s Jasper who stops them, though he doesn’t so much put a halt to things as he does appear, grab them each by the elbow, and shove them into an unused guest room. “Je _sus_ , get a room, even Maria and I were never _this_ bad,” he says, before closing the door and stalking away.

Phil looks at Clint, who’s standing at the end of the bed, looking mussed, and then back to the door. He hadn’t quite been planning to neglect the party and keep Clint all to himself, but maybe if he does this right, they can at least share a quickie before Tony, Rhodey, and Pepper arrive.

“Strip, get on the bed, and put your hands above your head,” Phil orders as he starts taking off his belt. “Now.”

Clint has his pants off and is struggling out of his sweater before Phil’s belt is through the loops. He smiles. Perfect.

 

*

 

Christmas morning dawns quiet, warm and wonderful, the bedroom filled with bright, brilliant light. Phil blinks at it once before burrowing back under the covers. “Did it snow?”

Clint raises his head to look out the window. Phil’s bedroom, soon to be theirs, if Phil has anything to say about it, faces the side yard and the road. “Yup,” he says, glancing over the scenery. “Looks like a good half-inch.”

“Huh,” Phil says. The forecast had been calling for a dusting, but Phil hadn’t wanted to pin his hopes too high. “A white Christmas.”

Clint starts humming, and Phil chuckles. Clint’s proven to have an amazing singing voice. Phil turns them over in bed, pulling the covers with him so he can surround them in a downy cocoon. Clint’s still humming, but he’s laughing now, too, and Phil kisses him. It’s warm, and sweet, and precious, and he wants never to stop.

When they do finally break off, Phil smiles. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Clint repeats, smiling back at him. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, indeed,” Phil agrees, leaning back in for another kiss. “What should we do first? Coffee? Presents?”

“Presents!” Clint declares. He shimmies out of bed before Phil can stop him and takes off down the hall, obviously going for the gift he’d wrapped and hidden yesterday. ‘You can’t look for it, that’d be cheating,’ he’d argued, when Phil had started surreptitiously glancing through closets. ‘It’s supposed to be a surprise.’

Phil half wants to follow him now, to learn exactly where Clint had hidden the gift, but he’s hoping he’ll have plenty of future Christmases in which to find out. Instead, Phil reaches into his bedside table and takes out the envelope he’d stashed there yesterday. Phil had agonized for weeks over what to buy Clint, but their conversation at Jasper and Maria’s Christmas party the other day had finally given him an idea.

Clint skids back into the bedroom wearing pajama pants with a large box that’s been carefully, if not particularly skillfully, wrapped in bright red and green paper. “Merry Christmas!”

Phil grins as Clint levers the box onto bed and dumps it on his lap. He hasn’t felt this excited about the holiday in years. “Thank you!”

“Open it, open it,” Clint chants, and waits, nearly buzzing with excitement, as Phil tears off the wrapping.

“Ohh,” Phil sighs happily, when he gets his first look at the box. “A new coffee machine. Thank you, Clint.”

“Do you like it?” Clint asks anxiously. “I got the one that does both Keurig cups and ground coffee, so I can buy you fancy Hawaiian shit for Valentine’s Day.” He flushes. “Or whenever.”

Phil drags him forward and kisses him thoroughly. “I love it. Let’s open it up and try it out at breakfast.”

“Sounds like a great idea,” Clint says happily. He moves to get off the bed.

“Wait,” Phil says, stopping him. He takes the envelope in hand. “I still need to give you your present.” He hesitates, but it’s stupid to wait, because if Clint doesn’t like it then he literally has nothing else to give. Phil shoves the the envelope into Clint’s hands. “Here.”

Clint looks at it curiously before he opens it. When he sees what’s inside, his eyes widen.

“It’s a gift card to a custom bow shop in New York,” Phil explains unnecessarily, because Clint can clearly see that, but he isn’t saying anything. Phil’s stomach twists. “I don’t know if you shoot any more, or if you still want to, or if it’s too painful, or, or anything, really. And I don’t want you to think that I just like you because I know that you’re the Amazing Hawkeye, because I didn’t, obviously, until you told me the other night, but - ” Phil swallows. Clint _still_ hasn’t said anything. “They have more than just bow stuff,” he adds, desperately. “They have outdoor things, and camping gear, and lots of equipment. You could get hiking boots, or a new jacket, or - ”

“I love it,” Clint says thickly.

Phil swallows. Clint’s eyes are shiny, like he wants to cry. “You do?”

“I do,” Clint tells him. “I - ” He looks up at Phil, and his eyelashes are wet. “I haven’t - not for so many years, and I’ll probably be terrible, but I haven’t - I couldn’t - ”

“Do you want to?” Phil asks. He reaches forward and puts his hands on Clint’s knees. He wants to touch him, even though Clint looks like he’ll break apart with one touch. Phil needs Clint close and warm and _here,_ where he’s safe. 

“I want to,” Clint says, sounding honest, “but I don’t want to do it alone. Will you come with me?”

“Absolutely,” Phil assures him. “We’ll pick a day together and go. Just the two of us.”

Clint grins, a smile taking over his face, and leans forward to brush their lips together. “Thank you, Phil. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Phil tells him. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

 

~ The End


End file.
